


Crossed

by ysse_writes



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2011-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The many twists and turns of Chris and Lance's epic love story.<br/>Written for the 2004 Don We Now Our Gay Apparel fic exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossed

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know them, don't own them, all lies.

 

It started at Joey’s wedding. Which meant it was all JC’s fault, because Chris wasn’t even going to go. He was so not going to go, in fact, that he didn’t even buy a suit. Or a gift. Or prepare a speech on the off chance that Joey would be drunk enough at the reception to ask him, even though Chris could _so_ totally deliver a kick-ass one. (He had this killer story about Joey and Kelly and their mistaken belief that Chris’ pool house had mirrored windows, for example, which he'd been saving for perfect opportunity to share.) Hell, he’d tentatively scheduled an album launch to tentatively coincide with Joey’s tentative wedding date just so he’d have a good excuse. After all, JC and Justin played the “album stuff” card all the time and even Joey occasionally blew him off when he had a show. Well, it was his turn, baby! What’s sauce for the goose and all that.

Only, the album launch was delayed and Joey and Kelly actually decided on a date and didn’t balk a few times the way Chris had predicted they would, so his perfectly good excuse turned out to be useless, like many of his carefully crafted scenarios regarding what he'd say should he ever meet Angelina Jolie. He probably could still have ditched the wedding, he’d gotten very good at being inaccessible this last year and all he had to do was lie low and keep out of sight. Except he’d totally underestimated how devious JC could be. Using his mother, for God’s sake! Now, generally, Chris was all for his mom being friends with the other guys’ moms, even if Diane made him a little nervous and he thought Lynn was a little controlling. (He positively adored Phyllis, but then, who didn’t?) But JC asking Karen to ask Bev the location of Chris’ current hideaway was unacceptable. That had to have been in violation of the International Treaty of Mother-Son Relations, or possibly the International Treaty of Friends Involving Families, or something. You didn’t hit on friends’ sisters, you didn’t rat out your friends brothers when they borrowed your car to go joyriding when everyone knew they were grounded, and you didn’t use your mother to find out where your best friend was hiding! Talk about low.

Chris was so going to get JC back for this. Just wait till Karen asked him if he knew what JC was planning to get her for her birthday next year! He’ll spill the beans just like _that_ and bully for JC if his surprise was spoiled. Mess with Chris and his Mom, would he? This was war!

It didn’t matter, Chris thought, glaring stubbornly. He was not going. He was on strike. He was not going to be witness to Joey being ecstatically happy, dammit, walking down the aisle with the woman of his dreams. He was not going to sit still and be reminded that he’d been left behind yet again, have his face rubbed in yet another proof that everything he’d worked hard for really had ended. And what was the point of being the acknowledged bitter old man of a group if he didn’t actually get to _be_ bitter? If he had to be all smiley and supportive and _accepting_ all the time anyway? And it wasn’t like _he_ hadn’t had the opportunity to get married. That last fight with Dani was still very clear in his mind, thank you very much, but he’d decided that the group came first. (Dani, on the other hand, had decided that she deserved someone more committed and less sucky.) But did those idiots appreciate his sacrifice? No! They were all making solo albums and doing Broadway shows and turning Hollywood and getting married! Assholes. He was perfectly within his rights to boycott this wedding. It will be _his_ thing.

“You’re going,” JC said, in that implacable unmovable voice he sometimes used in the studio when Chris and Justin were getting too rowdy and Joey and Lance kept insisting it was time for a pizza break.

“Am not,” Chris replied, still glaring in defiance at the floor. Yes, glaring at JC directly might have worked better for other people but Chris had a very bad record of resisting JC and it was easier to stand strong in the face of linoleum.

“You are,” JC repeated. “Joey is one of our best friends. This day is very important to him and we are going to be there for him.”

“Am not,” Chris said again. “And besides Joey has a zillion family members who will be there fawning all over him and he won’t even have time to talk to me, miss me or even notice I’m not there.”

“He’ll notice,” promised JC, darkly. “And so will the reporters.”

“And they’ll speculate that the band is broken up and we’re all fighting with each other and oh, wait, they’ve been saying that for three years already,” continued Chris, acidly. “Just because none of you have the balls to—”

“This isn’t about the group,” interrupted JC. “At least not *NSYNC. It’s about our friend, who is getting married, and who needs to know we’re happy for him. This is about our friend, who needs us to be there for him.”

“He does not. And it’s not like I’m the only one who’s not—”

“Justin is coming,” JC said, forestalling Chris's next argument. “And you have no excuse.”

Oh yeah? Chris thought. Don’t bet the farm on that. “I don’t have a suit,” he informed JC, somewhat triumphantly.

“You have dozens of suits,” JC contested, flatly. “Wear the one you wore to last year’s Grammys.”

“That was rented,” Chris lied. “Besides, it’s at my mom’s house.”

JC sighed. “Then wear jeans. Go naked, if you like, but you _are_ going.”

“Am not,” Chris said yet again. He thought he exhibited incredible self-control in not sticking his tongue out at JC.

“Oh for God’s sake,” JC snapped. He stepped forward, grabbed Chris’ ears and forced him to look at JC directly.

“Ow! Fuck, ‘C!”

“You listen here, Christopher Allan Kirkpatrick—”

Whoa, that was very very creepy, thought Chris. JC sounded just like Chris’ grandmother. Come to think of it, JC kinda looked like her, especially when his eyes were all scary-googly and his hair was standing up at all angles like that…

“This is _Joey’s_ day. It is about _Joey._ And I realize that you are completely self-absorbed so I will make myself very clear on this: you are going if I have to break you in half, put you in shopping cart and wheel you down the aisle myself.” He let go of Chris’ ears and stepped back. “Now, are you getting dressed and coming quietly, or do I have to hurt you?”

Chris tried to maintain his position. “I’m not scared of you,” he said. “You couldn’t hurt a fly if it landed on the sole of your shoe and your foot was already on its way down."

JC’s eyes narrowed. “That may be, but remember that I know you. I came prepared for every eventuality.”

“Oh yeah?” Chris challenged. JC was _so_ bluffing on this, he thought. "There was _no_ way.

“Yes," returned JC. " And if you’re not in your room changing in two seconds I will say two words. Two words, Chris, that I guarantee will have you down on your knees screaming for mercy.”

“Hah,” snorted Chris, going so far as to roll his eyes to indicate his disbelief.

“Lonnie,” JC said, calmly.

Chris blanched. Technically, Sexual Chocolate was employed by the Wright Entertainment Group and therefore Chris was just as much Lonnie’s employer as JC. Except everyone knew JC was Lonnie’s favorite, that JC had Lonnie wrapped around his finger, and that Lonnie would, in fact, cut off his own toe and eat it, if JC asked it of him. Lonnie would have absolutely no problem with stuffing Chris into a laundry bag and transporting him kicking and screaming wherever the hell JC wanted. And heck, that wasn’t even a worst-case scenario. JC could be pretty vindictive when pissed.

Still, Chris wasn’t going let JC win just like that. Sure, being smothered to death by Lonnie was an unpleasant image, but he was prepared to make the sacrifice. He was a man, dammit, and sometimes you just had to make a stand. He’d made a decision and by God, he was going to stick by it. No matter if Lonnie could flatten him like a pancake.

“Nice try,” Chris said, almost succeeding in sounding like he wasn’t intimidated. Sure Lonnie was big, but when had that ever been an issue? Practically everyone Chris had gotten in a fight with was bigger than him. Hell, Kevin Richardson had been at least a foot taller.

JC only stared back at him, impassively “You forced my hand,” he said. “Remember that.”

“Hey, if anyone’s trying to force anyone here—”

“Lance,” JC said.

Chris’ mouth snapped shut with an almost audible click. In the past few months, that had almost become a conditioned response. Someone mentioned Lance’s name and he clamped up, most of the time becoming unreasonably angry.

JC’s eyes softened. “Come on, Chris,” he said. “You know he needs us there, too. He and Joey are so close, this can’t be easy for him. “

Chris sighed in defeat. There it was, he thought. The reason he didn’t want to go to Joey’s wedding. And the reason he knew he was going.

Fucking Lance.

Without another word, he went upstairs to shower and change.

II

Okay, so technically it didn’t begin at Joey’s wedding. Technically, it began in Germany, or possibly even before that. Chris wasn’t really sure when the klutzy albino hick began getting under his skin. All he knew back then was the kid annoyed him, immensely. When pressed, he’d even admit that he had purposely baited and tortured Lance, taking grim satisfaction when he made Lance flinch or lower his head in embarrassment. There was just something in the straightforwardness of the pale green gaze that unnerved Chris, that challenged him. Perhaps it was the way he was so young and yet acted so mature, in contrast to Chris who _was_ old and felt it, no matter how childish he acted. Also, Lance made him feel grubby, for some reason, the same way the rich kids in school used to. True, Lance didn’t do anything to make him feel this way, but his very presence seemed to inspire the feeling. Also, Chris was vaguely insulted by the suspicion that that Lance wasn't particularly impressed by him. After all, Justin, who was had been working professionally for years and was practically a big star (in certain circles,) looked at him with something akin to awe and hero-worship while this pinch-hitter with no experience whatsoever seemed so underwhelmed.

Lance made Chris feel inadequate, insecure, and Chris did his level best to make Lance feel the same.

Only, the kid never seemed overly affected. Chris’ digs never seemed to reach very deep. The kid was just too focused, Chris discovered. Chris wanted this gig, wanted the album and contract so much he couldn’t tell whether he was awake or asleep, so consumed he was by the dream. And Lance. Chris didn’t understand why, but Lance wanted it just as much. Or maybe Lance was just a stubborn son of a bitch and didn’t know the meaning of giving up. He took everything they threw at him without complaint, which only made Chris more aggravated.

The boy could sing, though, even Chris had to admit that. His voice fit in, was comfortable with their mix of voices as his body couldn’t seem to manage.

Things got even worse when they went to Germany and he and Lance were forced to share a room.

Lou had decided that the easiest way to keep tabs on all of them was to make them keep tabs on each other. As a result, they were usually booked in double rooms. The one single room, which should have naturally gone to Chris for being the oldest, became constantly up for grabs, turned into a reward for good behavior by Lou. Which meant it usually went to Justin (when Lynn was around), JC (who was still the best performer among them, or Joey (who was so amiable that he never got in trouble. At least no trouble that Lou was ever aware of.) Also, Lou had somehow gotten it into his head that as the oldest member, it was Chris’ responsibility to look out for their newest member. The fact that Chris was inexplicably antagonistic towards Lance was even considered a plus--at least they wouldn't be scheming up ways to escape curfew together and getting each other in trouble.

Lou was wrong. The Odd Couple had nothing on them. Chris was, to put it kindly, messy, while Lance was obsessively neat and tidy. The kid brought along his own laundry hamper, for heaven’s sake! Also, Chris was like a bull in a China shop, constantly bouncing off the walls. Even when it was time to sleep, his over-exhaustion manifested either in (1) an inability to sleep, which involved either much tossing and turning or, worse, having to find ways to amuse himself, most of which involved waking Lance up with the resulting noise, or (2) bulldozer-like snores, which _always_ resulted in waking Lance up. In retribution, Lance had been known to throw things in his direction: pillows, books, and once, an actual shoe. Once Chris had even inexplicably woken up to find Lance standing over him, clutching a pillow and holding it about four inches from Chris’s face, murder in his eyes.

On the other hand, Lance sleeping style completely freaked out Chris. Growing up in such small quarters with his sisters, Chris was used to hearing his hearing breathing and night noises. It gave him comfort, in fact, in the dark, knowing that his sisters were near and safe, that he was not alone. Lance sleeping like the dead, silent and unmoving, made Chris nervous. Unfortunately, he had never had very good impulse control, and would constantly get up from his bed for the express purpose of checking to see if Lance was still breathing. Also unfortunately, this usually involved poking, which, predictably, resulted in _no one_ getting any sleep.

After four straight sleepless nights and after two crew men had to be called in to forcibly separate Chris and Lance (the rest of the guys had been egging them on. Joey and Justin thought it was hilarious, a big joke. JC, who could be very cranky when he was sleep-deprived, was serious. He was all for them killing each other if it meant he could finally get some sleep) Lou was finally forced to admit that it had been an extremely bad idea and roomed Chris with Justin and put Lance in with Joey. JC got the single room. (Strangely enough, it was JC’s psychotic behavior that most freaked out Lou and he gave the others serious warnings about never disturbing JC’s rest again, on pain of death.)

So things were quiet for a while, as things usually are when people are asleep. Chris and Justin got along remarkably well and Lance and Joey were instant best friends. Chris and Lance still didn’t get along, but since they now no longer lived together, they didn’t really have the time or opportunity to get on each other’s nerves. They were practicing all the time, and when they weren’t, they were performing at small venues or being toted out to producers. Lance worked even harder, something that Chris had thought practically impossible. And now that he’d gotten some distance from Lance, he could see the strain of the last few months on the younger boy. Lance had always been pale, and everyone looked sturdy next to JC’s skinny ass, so it had been easy to miss just how much thinner and paler Lance was now. Make-up for their performances barely hid the dark circles under his eyes.

The realization brought with it a strange sense of disquiet.

Chris found himself watching Lance more. He seemed a lot happier now. Justin had been extremely homesick, but as the youngest he took advantage of being the baby. He knew no one would give him a hard time if he whined and became all sniffly. Besides, Justin had his mother’s support and Lynn was there all the time anyway. Chris realized that at sixteen, Lance was trying desperately to act like an adult, especially as he was fairly sure Diane would drag him back home the moment he exhibit any sigh that he couldn’t handle the hardships that came with being in the group.

 _That_ realization made Chris’ heretofore-absent sense of guilt surface and poke him a little. Okay, a lot. In the face of the ass-kicking his conscience gave him, he had to admit that maybe he hadn’t been giving Lance a fair chance, that he had only made things harder.

Lance was getting so much better at the dancing, Chris could see that. Unfortunately the producers couldn’t. He’d gotten so far in the last few weeks, but all the producers saw was that little bit he still had to go.

All they could see was that _he_ had to go.

At that point, what Chris realized was that he did a lot of freaking out where Lance was concerned. Strange thing, that.

Lance never came to him for help, but if he had, he wouldn’t have found him. Chris was with Lou, making sure that Lance wasn’t going anywhere. He made it clear to Lou that they were a group and they would all be signed up as a group. That it was all of them or none of them. (He had actually first consulted and gotten the JC, Joey and Justin’s’ blessings on this move. Especially JC’s, who was more or less their self-appointed musical director and who made it absolutely clear that Lance was _their_ bass and that there was no way they were going to find anyone whose voice fit their sound better. Also, JC thought Lance was adorable, perfect, and was aware that cooking involves more than throwing things in a pot and dumping tomato sauce over everything.’)

Chris could talk a good game when he needed to. After all, he’d managed to talk Lou into letting him have this chance, didn’t he? He reminded Lou he’d put this band together and he knew what was best and he had final say in who was in _his_ group. (This wasn’t technically true, but it sounded good anyway.) He threw in a few wild arm gestures to drive the point home and made his voice unnaturally high to show how passionately he felt about the topic. (The truth is, he did this because he knew Lou had some kind of inner ear imbalance and Chris’ voice, at its highest, practically made Lou’s ear bleed and the wild gesturing made him dizzy. Chris was a master in fighting dirty.)

In the end, Chris got Lou to agree that Lance could stay the same way he’d gotten Lou to agree to sign them up in the first place: giving Chris wanted just so Chris would stop talking and leave him alone. Besides, Chris knew that Lou was ultimately ruled by greed and he wasn’t going to risk losing his investment. Anyone with half a brain could see that maybe they weren’t ready yet, but when they were they were going to be awesome. Fortunately, Lou had the requisite half a brain. Barely.

After he’d told the rest of the guys that Lou wasn’t going to take the deal and they were going to wait for a better offer, they decided that they’d all go out to celebrate. He figured they all deserved a break. Lance, in particular, was looking somewhat shell-shocked and probably could use a beer or two.

“What?” Chris asked, when he found Lance in his room as he was changing into club clothes.

For the first time, Lance looked unsure. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You don’t even like me.”

Chris almost laughed. It sounded more like an accusation, really. “Why, just because you’ve tried to kill me on several occasions?”

Lance snorted. “I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

Chris did laugh then. “True enough.” He felt a sudden surge of affection for Lance, who was spunky and overly serious and had a pair, despite looking a refugee from Oliver Twist. Following an impulse, he ruffled Lance’s hair. “Stop thinking so hard, kid. And give yourself a break. You deserve to be here and we want you here, got that? Now go get ready before Lou realizes how much money he stands to make off of us and comes back to lock us in just to make sure we don’t get away.”

Lance looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Lance turned to leave then but stopped at the doorway. “Maybe you’re not as big an asshole as I thought,” he said, smiling, probably for the first time, at Chris. Chris had maybe never seen anything so sweet in his life.

Chris grinned. “Yeah, you too.”

  


III

  
It actually _really_ started when Lance collapsed.

At that time, everything had been so freaking graphic and vibrant and bigger than life. After years of struggling, it felt like they finally made it. Justin and JC had had some measure of fame before but it was all new and overwhelming to Chris. All the performances, all the concerts, all the fame, all the fans. Most of it was good, some of it wasn’t, and really, Chris had been too overloaded to be able to immediately tell the difference. So much, _too much_ was happening. When people asked him about it years later, he found that he couldn’t remember much of the details, that it was all one big blur. At the time, though, every sight and sound and experience had seemed etched directly into his brain.

He’d heard that it was the same way with soldiers sometimes, that in wartime every experience was hyper-intensified, so much so that their brains were overloaded with input. That losing the details later, after it was over, was some symptom of post-traumatic stress.

That was probably what it had been like, Chris thought now. Like some war, only not of them had been prepared for the fallout. It hadn’t felt like a war back then, it had felt like an adventure. They were getting so much work, so much attention. They felt as if they were finally coming into their own, finally finding their feet, only to have it cut out from under them. Lance collapsing had taken out the bottom of all their worlds, forced them to stand still and get their bearings. They hadn’t even realized that they were losing. That they were lost.

Chris blamed himself. He had driven this truck, had led his friends here, had read the signs all wrong. He’d been so desperate to escape that he hadn’t realized to where he’d been running. And now he maybe hadn’t only messed up his own life but messed up the lives of four other people he’d grown to care about very much.

Basically, he sucked.

Chris snuck into the Lance’s hospital room, even though the doctors made it clear that Lance wasn’t ready for visitors yet. He just needed to make sure.

When Lance finally opened his eyes, he found Chris standing over him, blinking furiously. He was not crying, _no he wasn’t,_ but his eyes were dry and his nose felt itchy, which is why he kept sniffling. _Sniffing,_ he corrected. Really, there was way too much dust in the room. Considering that it was a hospital and all that.

“Chris?” Lance sounded unsure again, which Chris now realized that was the worst sound in the world, ever.

“I suck,” Chris blurted out. It was the thought still foremost in his mind.

Lance held the look a moment longer before closing his eyes again. “I’m fine,” he said.

Hesitantly, Chris reached out one finger.

“Don’t even think about it,” growled Lance, eyes still closed.

Chris smiled and put down his hand. He didn’t leave though, and continued to stand there, watching Lance.

After some time Lance opened his eyes again. “Please don't do that.”

“Do what?” Chris asked.

“Hover like that.” Lance sighed, sleepily. “I’m fine, Chris. Go home. Get some sleep, you’re just as tired as I am.”

“I… I can’t.”

“Chris…”

“I have to be here, okay? I have to! I’m not ready to leave yet.”

Lance sighed again, then moved over to one side of the hospital bed, drawing the blanket out of the way, making space for Chris. “Come here.”

Chris hesitated, then finally, reluctantly, obeyed. He got into the bed slowly, carefully, making sure not to jostle Lance. It was a fairly large bed but Lance kept close, taking Chris’ hand and placing it over his heart. “See?” he whispered, and Chris felt warm breath on his skin. “My heart is beating. I’m alive, I’m here, and I promise, I’ll still be here tomorrow. Go to sleep.”

So Chris did.

Lance was fine, or as fine as he could be without having surgery, which the doctors said wasn’t really necessary at that time. The important thing, the doctors said, was that he get the chance to rest and recover.

Except Lance couldn’t rest, none of them could. Everything had just gotten turned on its head.

“He’s just 20,” JC said, his hands shaking, “and we ruined his _heart._ This can’t continue, Chris. We have to do something.”

“We are,” Chris answered. “We’re gonna make this right, ‘C, I promise you.”

Only he wasn’t so sure.

They sent Lance home to rest for a while, but no one could make Lance stay away for very long. He was too much of a professional for that. Thankfully, that leg of their tour was over and the next wasn’t for slated to start for a while, because while Lance insisted he was well enough to perform, he was still exhausted all the time. Chris, on the other hand, began having nightmares. He never remembered what they were about but he kept waking up screaming and then rushing to Lance’s room (they could afford to have their own rooms now) to make sure he was okay.

Most nights he found Lance asleep and would stay and watch him for a while before going back to bed. A lot of times, though, he found Lance awake, too, staring up at the ceiling in a dark room. He knew Lance was awake by the sound of his breathing, which now had this funny little hitch, like he’d always just stopped crying. It wasn’t really apparent, but Chris seemed to have spider-senses when it came to Lance’s breath and heartbeat.

By this time they’d all gotten used to sharing one bus, to each other's noises and being in each other's personal space. It wasn’t such a big deal for Chris to slip into the bed with Lance and wrap his arms around him. It seemed natural, too, for Lance to snuggle in and for his head to fit in perfectly in the crook of Chris’ shoulder.

“You have to sleep, Lance,” he’d always say.

“I will,” Lance would reply. “I just—”

“It’s okay. I’ll fix this, I will,” he’d promise.

Then they’d sleep.

Except it wasn’t fixed, not for a long time. The tour continued, and the lawsuit broke, and the situation progressively got worse. Joey began dating more and more women, as if that way he could prove people still liked them and they still had a future. Justin would beatbox to himself at all hours, consumed copious amounts of pizza and kept experimenting with his hair. JC became so alarmingly thin that Chris was afraid that they were going to have two people hospitalized (maybe three, if Chris had an aneurysm) and spent hours upon hours writing dark angry songs that would never see the inside of a recording booth. Lance and Chris... Well, Lance and Chris slept together.

It was fine, thought Chris, even though it occasionally to him that regularly sleeping with a bandmate, even if there wasn’t necessarily sex involved, wasn’t exactly normal behavior. It was okay, it was… medicinal.

The problem was, he actually liked sleeping with Lance. He’d never had a teddy bear or stuffed toy to sleep with when he was young (not that he ever wanted one, being all macho and stuff) but he knew sleeping with Lance was nothing like that. Lance wasn’t soft or furry or cuddly. Most of the time he’d remain unmoving, a dead weight, though occasionally an arm or a leg would suddenly knock the wind out of Chris or startle him into wakefulness. But still, being there made him feel safe. Lance felt like a rock in more ways than one.

Except Chris hadn’t counted on Lance smelling so _good,_ feeling so incredible in his arms. He was having nasty dreams again, and would wake up with his heart pounding. Only, it was a different sort of nasty altogether, and the blood was rushing through another part of his body instead of his head. And Lance, who used to wake up at the slightest sound Chris made, would only snuggle closer, sometimes making low soothing noises that did not help _at all._ Sleeping with Lance became counterproductive, because now Chris would lie awake, trying desperately not to make any move that would guarantee to freak Lance out and maybe get Chris arrested. After all, if he was going to prison he’d much rather it was because he’d strangled Lou or something, not because he’d unwittingly (okay, somewhat wittingly) molested a friend.

Still, he endured the ordeal. Lance needed him, he told himself. It was a sacrifice, but he’d just have to suck it up and take it like a man.

Okay, that might have been a bad choice of words.

Also, there were certain… pros and cons… to consider. If Chris “succeeded” and managed to wean himself away from sleeping with Lance, he could freely jack off in the semi-privacy of his own bed, safely, constantly, continuously, at least until he died from exhaustion and protein deficiency. On the other hand, it was the sleeping with Lance that made the need to be able to jack off so urgent. He doubted he would be so desperate to jack off if he wasn’t sleeping with Lance in the first place.

One night, when all thoughts of baseball, England and Lou in a thong weren’t working, he carefully tried to inch out from under Lance and make his way to the bathroom. Very very carefully, in fact, because every touch of his skin again Lance was excruciating and threatened to escalate the minor inconvenience in his pants to a full blown emergency.

Damn Lance for smelling this good, he thought.

Lance stirred, despite his precautions. “Hmmm, where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he answered, whispering. “Back in a sec.”

Lance made a protesting noise and snuggled closer, retaking territory Chris had painstakingly managed to liberate. “No,” he whispered back. “Stay here.”

Chris laughed. “No, Lance, really, I have to—” The laugh turned into a gasp as Lance’s hand moved lower, landing squarely on his groin. “Uh, Lance…?”

“Shhhh.” One deft move and the hand that had been outside Chris’ boxers was now in. And moving. Deftly.

“Lance, what—?”

“Shh, I said.”

The moment Lance’s hand touched Chris’ penis, Chris stopped protesting. Hell, stopped thinking altogether. It was like an electrical shock, except Chris’ instinctive jerk was more like a full-body shudder. He felt like a special kind of fire was licking at his insides, originating from where Lance was touching him. It burned and it hurt but, God, it felt so _good._ Lance stroked down and Chris actually felt his eyeballs roll to the back of his head. He was harder and more desperate than he’d ever been in his life, harder than he’d been back at summer camp before eleventh grade when he’d stumbled into the O’Riley twins making out in one of the canoes out in the lake, more desperate than when they’d seen him watching, smiled, proceeded to take their clothes off and then waved him over to join them.

Like that time long ago, he didn’t last long. He came all over Lance’s hand, gasping Lance’s name.

It took a while to catch his breath, his mind reeling more than his body was. Lance had just jerked him off, what the fuck?

Lance’s hand retreated, somewhat more slowly than it had advanced, like he’d gotten shy all of a sudden. His head was hidden in the crook of Chris' neck. He wasn't too shy to wipe himself off on Chris’ shorts, however. “Sticky,” he said, somewhat apologetically.

“No problem,” Chris said. He continued to stare at the ceiling, wondering what he was supposed to do next. Should he return the favor? “Do you want me to...?”

“No,” Lance said, quickly. “It’s okay. I, uh… I’m going back to sleep now. You, too, okay?”

Bewildered, Chris could only nod. “Okay.”

Chris didn’t go back to sleep. He was too confused and guilt-ridden. Besides, now that his shorts were all sticky, he _really_ needed to go to the bathroom.

Things could have continued like that indefinitely, except that all of a sudden lawsuit was over. Which was a cause for celebration, really it was, an early Christmas gift. At the back of his mind, however, Chris knew that this meant his days—nights!— of sleeping with Lance were numbered. Besides, it was one thing to sleep with Lance when he was all pale and sickly, looking like death warmed over, it was another thing entirely when Lance was energetic and bouncy and so annoyingly _fine._

Chris still didn’t know what exactly had happened that night. Lance never said a word about it and didn’t act any differently. Truth be told, if not for the evidence of one very sticky pair of shorts, Chris would have thought he’d dreamt it all. He wanted desperately to talk to someone about it, but he could just imagine how the others would react. JC would so kick his ass for taking advantage of Lance in his weakened condition and Joey would probably call out his mob connections and have him killed. Worst of all, Justin would blab it all to Lynn and Chris would have to kill himself just to avoid the disapproving looks and forthcoming lecture.

Chris just didn’t know what to do. So after they returned from their respective Christmas holidays, Chris just stopped coming to Lance’s room.

Lance never asked him why. Or asked him to come back.

  


IV

Maybe it was actually all Joey’s fault, because if he’d never gotten his leg hurt in that stupid insane freak accident during rehearsals for the PopOdyssey tour and Lance hadn’t totally freaked out over it, Justin would never have demanded that the tour medic give Lance a sedative, too, to calm him down. Then Lance wouldn’t have spent the next two hours freaking quietly on the floor, moaning over and over how “He could have died. Joey could have died. It could have taken his head off. Joey could have died. Bree would have been an orphan,” until even JC couldn’t stand it anymore and begged Chris to take Lance home. Then Chris wouldn't have had to drive Lance home, carry him to bed, take off his shoes and undress him, only to then get dragged into the same bed by a sedated wonderfully smelling man who sniffled pitifully into his neck. He wouldn't have needed to hold the same wonderfully smelling man and croon familiar crappy promises that everything would be fine, until the wonderfully smelling man fell asleep. He would not have been so exhausted that he fell asleep, too. And he would not have woken up in the middle of the night to find himself (and his johnson) being subject to certain lewd acts and suffered through the fumbling seduction of a certain determined, if somewhat incoherent, wonderfully smelling man, who, by the way, was also a gorgeous blonde with incredible green eyes, a naturally seductive voice, and a very talented tongue.

Damn that Joey. It was a good thing he was already hurt or Chris might have been tempted to hurt him himself! This blowjob was all _his_ fault!

This time, though, Lance let him return the blowjob.

Joey was fine in the morning and flew with the rest of the band to LA for the filming of the Pop video. Understandably, JC, Justin and Lance fawned all over him, making sympathetic noises and catering to his every whim. Joey didn’t complain. In fact, Joey was his relentlessly sunny self, which meant that the people around him were soon reassured, smiling, and happy.

Lance, especially.

Chris wanted to break Joey’s other leg, just because.

  


V

It was the entire country of Russia’s fault, really, and Chris was all for reviving the Cold War because of it.

It wasn’t fair. Lance had worked so hard and done everything they’d asked of him. He’d passed every test, proven himself in every way imaginable. He’d even undergone surgery to get his heart fixed. It wasn’t _fair._

And Lance, he’d been so brave when he came back. No complaining, no bitching how badly he had been treated, how badly he had been screwed over, even though everyone knew already. He kept talking about how wonderful everyone had been, how much he'd learned, how he'd love the experience. And he’d kept on being optimistic to everyone who tried to get him to admit his disappointment. Chris, who had by this time managed to recognize that there was a certain pattern to his encounters with Lance, was torn by how much he wanted to be there for him and by his determination to absolutely not take advantage of his friend yet again. On the other hand, if he was not there, that would open the way for _other people_ to take advantage, and that wasn’t acceptable either, as far as Chris was concerned.

Lance insisted that he was fine but Chris knew better. Justin, who’d been the first to see Lance after his training had ended, had reported that he did seem fine, finer than he’d ever been in his life, in fact, but Chris didn’t believe him. What did Justin know, really? He was too busy running around with Alyssa Milano. If Chris had been running around with Alyssa Milano, he’d probably not spend a lot of time observing other people, too.

In any case, Chris tried, he did. He took Lance drinking. He took Lance partying. Heck, he even took Lance to the zoo. Most of the time Joey or one of the other guys were with them, though, so Chris felt relatively safe that he (and Lance) would behave and nothing untoward would happen.

Lance still kept insisting he was fine, that he hadn’t given up. That he would be able to go up in April, and if not, then in October. As soon as a spot opened, he insisted, he was in.

Undaunted, Chris took Lance with him to Jamaica for a golf tournament, and then to Bangkok. Lance was annoyingly cheery at both occasions. He was hiding his pain extremely well, thought Chris.

In February, Space News announced that Lance wouldn’t be going to space in October. Lance scoffed and told him they didn’t know what they were talking about. That everything was in place. He was excited, too, about a new show he was going to be doing, something called America’s Most Talented Kid. The only inconsistency in his avowals of emotional and mental health, in health, in fact, was the this weird determination to be there for the opening of Celine Dion’s new act in Vegas. That just _screamed_ mental anguish, as far as Chris was concerned. It turned out Justin was excited about it, too, and Chris was finally forced write it off as a “weird Southern thing.” Chris still didn’t buy that Lance was fine, though, and kept a constant vigil, prepared to be there the minute Lance called. Unfortunately, despite the fact that they were on hiatus, they still seemed to be booked solid, and multiple obligations conspired to constantly take Chris away. He coordinated with the rest of the guys to continue with Operation: LanceWatch as best they could and hoped for the best.

At the end of April, Lance, who was in California, called Chris, who was in New York.

Chris took the first plane out.

They had real sex for the very first time in Lance’s house in LA.

Lance picked him up at the airport. They drove back to Lance’s house silently, Lance looking almost grim and Chris not quite able to manage his usual sparkling conversation. He didn’t know just what to say, and he’d exhausted all his lame attempts at encouragement months ago. There, too, was the guilt that he maybe he had had a smug “I knew it!” moment after Lance had called, and he was an asshole for even thinking it. It wasn’t that he had wanted it to happen, but he had been absolutely certain it would, which was just as bad.

Like before, he was determined that he was not going to take advantage of Lance, that the only reason he was here was to provide support and cheering up. Only the moment they arrived at Lance’s house Lance dragged him into the living room, pushed him down on some weird-looking but oddly comfortable couch and proceeded to French kiss him.

Ooh, there was that talented tongue again, how Chris had missed it! And Lance’s hands were just as adept at getting into his pants as he remembered.

He managed to catch himself one second before his brain totally shut down. Two thoughts managed to wave their arms frantically and catch his attention, despite the mind-blowing experience of being in a lip-lock with Lance: (1) this was their first kiss, and (2) Lance smelled and _tasted_ of alcohol.

He succeeded in pulling away, despite the wonderfully paralyzing things Lance was doing to his body, and attempted to voice out his concern. “Lance—”

“Unless it’s a no,’” Lance said, flatly, “I don’t want to hear it.”

Chris blinked. “You want me to say no?” he asked, confused.

Lance blinked back. He seemed confused, too. “No,” he said, talking very slowly, which he sometimes did when he thought Chris was being more of an idiot than usual. “I meant, if you say no, I’ll stop, but if what you were going to say isn’t no, then you should just shut up let me continue.”

Chris thought about it. Lance obviously translated his silence as not-a-no, and proceeded to lick at Chris’ neck while rubbing insistently at his lower parts.

Chris stopped thinking altogether.

Lance was sad and depressed for a long time, which, conversely, and as horrible as it made him seem, made Chris happy. He was seriously fucked up, he knew that, but comforted himself with the several rationalizations: (1) Lance wanted it, (2) Lance started it, (3) Lance had obviously done some strange mind-bending thing with those weird green eyes that made Chris all unresisting and pliant (and somewhat of a screamer), and (4) they were both regularly having really _really_ great sex. So, really, how bad could it be? He also told himself that he was doing it more for Lance than for himself, and that he was helping more than he was hurting. At least, he told himself, he wasn’t one of those controlling assholes that deliberately caged and manipulated their spouses or whatever and deliberately cultivated to their fear and depression.

He wasn’t _making_ Lance all sad and depressed, he was just taking advantage of Lance’s sorrow and depression!

He was such a good friend.

Still, he did his best, taking care of Lance, making sure that Lance ate, that he rested, that he kept busy. Chris found that he enjoyed it. He was used to taking care of people, after all. He constantly kept the other guys updated and scheduled outings, making sure they spent time with Lance no matter how busy they were. He was so busy taking care of Lance, in fact, that his other non-*NSYNC friends began complaining that he had practically disappeared off the radar. Wild gossip and speculations arose about his whereabouts. Chris was pretty sure a solid percentage of their fanbase would be happy to learn that he was “keeping house” for Lance, but Johnny didn’t think it was such a good idea. Everyone in the group now knew that Lance and Chris was sleeping together, but it didn’t seem to matter. “Weren’t you always?” asked Justin, confused.

All in all, it was a pretty good deal. Except for the using and taking advantage part. And the guilt.

Chris kept telling himself that he was doing it for Lance. That Lance needed him.

What worried Chris most wasn’t the extended duration of Lance’s depression, it was the extreme moodiness, the violent ups and downs of his emotions. Most of the time he seemed generally happy, but then the littlest thing could send him back into a funk. His 24th birthday (“I’m old, Chris. I’m as old as you when we started!” “Excuse me? What about me?” “But you were always old! You’re used to it!”) had had to be dealt with via an extended tri-state birthday celebration and Chris jumping out of giant cake, his naughty parts demurely covered by strategically placed sugar flowers. The announcement of Joey’s engagement (“I had such a crush on him, Chris.” “He’s terminally straight.” “I know, believe me.” “And how would you know that?” “I just do. Hey, wanna have revenge sex?”) had necessitated a failed attempt at a shower rendezvous, a three-hour bubble bath complete with a foot spa treatment, and Chris hurting his back on the bathroom floor (which, by the way, had been wet and freezing) They had to have the living room carpets professionally cleaned after news of Justin and Cameron dating broke out. (“Don’t tell me, you used to have such a crush on him, too.” “Covering yourself in chocolate sauce and letting me lick it all off would make me feel a lot better, Chris.”) Once, Chris got a speeding ticket, all because Lance called, sniffling, and said that Steven Spielberg’s AI was on and it was at that scene where the mom was leaving David in the woods. Chris knew he had to get to Lance and shut that damn TV off before the aliens showed up and did their reincarnation thing.

When Chris got his new dog Layla, Lance had pouted for an entire day, and Chris had been forced to find a French’s maid’s uniform to get Lance out of his sulk. (Lance was a man of classic tastes.) Fortunately, Lance loved dogs and Layla was so adorable he couldn’t resist her for long so Chris finally got rid of the dress (he kept the heels and stockings).

Then, CFTC came and everyone kept remarking on how great they both looked, how happy Lance seemed, and the guilt hit Chris again.

Lance _had_ been doing much better. He’d been keeping busy, making so many new friends, handling so many new projects. Chris could no longer deny that Lance didn’t really need him as a crutch anymore.

When Lance suggested they go to the Junior Seau party at the Opium Gardens, just the two of them, Chris was more than happy to agree. He’d been sharing Lance with so many people the past few days, he was glad to have the opportunity have Lance to himself for a while.

“Wanna dance?” Lance asked, and he nodded. One of the perks of being in a boyband was nobody thought it odd when you danced with a bandmate. Lance still danced like a dork when he didn’t have any choreography to follow, thought Chris, but no one really complained.

Lance was so beautiful. Chris had always known that, but for some reason it hit him, suddenly, in the middle of a sea of strangers, just _how_ beautiful Lance actually was. How sweet and kind and smart and talented and how much Chris loved him.

 _Really_ loved him. The really gay and forever way.

And true to his contrary nature, the realization depressed the hell out of Chris. How sad was that, realizing you were in love with a guy who didn’t need you anymore?

All of a sudden he was the one who was tired and sad, dream-deprived and disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” Lance half-yelled into his ear. “Are you tired?”

Chris nodded.

“Wanna go back to the hotel?”

Chris nodded again. Just as they were nearing the entrance, someone Chris didn’t recognize called Lance’s name and waved him over to where he and a group of pompous-looking people were having a discussion.

“Producers,” explained Lance, grimacing. “You mind if we—”

“You go talk to them,” Chris said, forestalling his words. “I can go back by myself.”

Lance’s brow furrowed in concern. “But—”

“No, seriously, you go,” said Chris. “I’ll be okay.”

Back at the hotel, Chris went to sleep in his own room instead of Lance’s. He didn’t sleep a wink.

Lance was grim again the next morning, though Chris could tell that that grimness was anger instead of sorrow. He didn’t know what Lance had to be angry about, though. Maybe on of the producers he’d spoken with the night before had pissed him off.

Still, Chris was never one to dillydally once he’d made a decision. He waited till Lance was on his second cup of coffee before breaching the subject.

“Look, Lance, I’ve been thinking... Remember that album I was thinking of doing? And the recording label? I think maybe I’d—”

“You think that now it’s safe to leave me alone now, and that it’s time you went on your way?” Lance suggested.

“What?” Yikes, Lance was a mind reader! thought Chris. Wait a minute, did Lance know about the silk shirt Chris had mistakenly used to mop up Layla’s last “accident”?

Lance sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Then the grimness was gone and there only seemed to be flat resignation. “It’s okay, Chris. It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. I have been for months. In fact, I’ve always _been_ fine. I don’t need to be watched over or comforted or whatever.”

Now Chris was confused. It was one thing to realize you were maybe unnecessary, that the person you loved didn’t need you; it was a different thing entirely to be told that straight to your face. It was like a being a good shrink, he thought. He was so good at helping Lance recover that he lost his job because of it. Still, he should be happy, right? It was what he wanted. It was the whole point of this stupid arrangement.

Except...

“Lance—”

“Just go, okay? You obviously don’t want to be here. I’ll be fine without you.”

Lance was obviously trying to be kind. To Chris, though, it sounded like a brush-off. It sounded like goodbye.

“That’s it?” Chris asked, and he didn’t quite understand why he was feeling so hurt. Why he suddenly wanted to take it back. “Just like that?”

Lance snorted. “Why not? That’s how you like it, right? No complications, no strings, no hard feelings? Thanks, it’s been fun, see you around?” Chris had absolutely no idea what Lance was talking about, but Lance didn’t give him a chance to protest. Lance slammed down his coffee cup and stood up. “I’ll make it easy on you,” he said, coldly. “This time I’ll even leave first.”

Chris wanted to stop him but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

Lance flew back to LA the next day. Alone.

  


VI

It hadn’t actually been necessary for Lonnie to throw Chris over his shoulder and forcibly carry him to the SUV, but JC decided that was a nice touch anyway. Chris managed to maintain an admirable sulk the entire trip, except for when they stopped for coffee and donuts and Chris realized he’d forgotten his wallet. (JC made him sign an IOU before he lent him the money for an expresso.) He almost bolted at the airport, but fortunately JC had brought along a pill case full of sedatives so he didn’t have to be awake for the flight. It wasn’t till he was getting dressed for the wedding (jeans) that he started to get nervous about seeing Lance again.

He knew he was silly for being worried. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Lance since CFTC V. They were really far too tightly knit as a group to ever be mad at each other or be without contact with each other for any length of time, but he had to admit that it had been really tense for a while. The others had tsk-tsked but left them alone, knowing that they were both too stubborn to listen to any advice, and prone to stomping off in outrage whenever anyone suggested that they should maybe “really talk.” As for Chris and Lance, it had been easy enough to stay out of each other’s way, Lance going so far as to sell the house in LA just to avoid being neighbors with Chris. Mostly they had met as a group, minus one or two members, though occasionally someone would back out due to scheduling conflicts (apparently “hiatus” meant “being extremely busy with things that had nothing to do with *NSYNC”) and would leave Chris and Lance to fend for themselves.

Lance never seemed to mind being with Chris but he could feel the distance between them anyway. rather, he could feel the distance Lance kept between them.

As for Lance, it was becoming increasingly apparent that despite having no plans to release a solo album, having been rejected by the space program and having a gigantic flop of a movie, Lance was still hot commodity. His rep only increased, his circle widened. Paris Hilton was his pal. Sharon Osbourne called him “sweetie” and wanted him to marry her daughter. (Chris thought that two Kelly girlfriends in the band would be too confusing. It was bad enough having two Danielles.) He’d even gone skydiving! Chris considered this a personal slight, a stunt Lance pulled specifically to scare Chris out of his wits. Lance was a sadistic bastard, to be sure. Why else would he and Joey bring Chris to Jamaica for his 32nd birthday?

In Jamaica, Lance kept mentioning someone named “Jesse.” Chris was really too drunk and depressed to pay much attention but he was fairly sure he was going to end up hating that person anyway.

Lance had been in such high spirits, in fact, Chris had felt the urge to knock his head against the wall very hard until he passed out. That might have seemed ungrateful, however, and he didn’t want Lance and Joey regretting the time out of their busy schedules to celebrate his birthday with him. He settled for drinking his weight in various colorful alcoholic drinks in very big glasses (and the occasional big fruit).

It was a very long, very confused trip.

He did feel guilty about thinking badly of Lance and his new friend later, because no matter what, he did genuinely want Lance to be happy.

He panicked somewhat when he learned that Lance had spent Halloween schmoozing with Dani, Chris’ other ex, at the Texas Chainsaw Massacre party. God only knew that they’d talked about. The prospect of that, however, didn’t disturb Chris so much as the realization that he’d begun to think of Lance as his “ex.” He wondered if Lance felt the same way, and if what they’d done even counted as a relationship.

He met Jesse, finally, and Jesse was an okay guy, fun and cute, always willing to follow and support Lance’s adventurous streak. And he obviously adored Lance.

Jesse made Chris feel positively _ancient._

He tried to be happy for Lance, he really did, but Chris hated Jesse because... _Because,_ period. He couldn’t stand the way they were always together, all shiny and happy and _young._ He decided the best thing would be to continue to keep busy and stay away, to the best of his ability. The guys and the media, however, kept conspiring to torture him with Lance’s happiness. Lance and Jesse modeling together! Seeing Joey’s play together! Shopping! Surfing! Going to amusement parks! Lance even brought Jesse to CFTC VI, for heaven’s sake (along with a “girlfriend,” because God forbid Lance ever become predictable.)

It had felt incredible, singing together again, feeling their voices meld and soar together like that. Chris had been determined not to let the hiatus thing get him down, but that moment sort of brought home to him how far apart they all were now. Others had remarked that he hadn’t been as spastic and excited as usual and he felt a little guilty letting their fans down, but he couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm. Seeing Jesse and Lance together just hurt too much.

He decided then that it was time he stopped waiting for the damn hiatus to end, for things to go back to the way they were. He needed to find his own thing.

Chris hadn’t seen Lance since then.

The wedding went smoothly enough, as far as media circus weddings went. Lance came alone, which was somewhat of a surprise. So did Justin, which was an even _bigger_ surprise. The ceremony was beautiful, though each and every one of them would deny acting less than manly, regardless of how many discarded tissues would later be found under the pews they had occupied.

At the reception, he was ambushed by Kelly, who chewed him out for his fashion sense (“This is a wedding, Christopher! And this is New York, not Southern California. Did you even notice that we’re in a damn _castle_?”) In the end she gave him a big hug, though, and told him she, Joey and Briahnna had missed him, and that all things considered she supposed she was grateful that he was at least wearing pants. She really was a cool chick, admitted Chris to himself. Joey was a very lucky man. Henpecked, but lucky.

Lance had looked fine, but JC had sounded so worried, so earnest, that Chris finally promised that he would find Lance and talk to him.

Chris finally found Lance in the garden, amusing Bree and some the guests’ children by teaching them how to make soda rockets. Chris couldn’t help but grin. It didn’t matter how much of a Hollywood player Lance became, in his heart of hearts he was still a dork.

Except, you know, really hot.

The kids went screeching after bottle rockets, under the watchful eyes of their nannies and bodyguards, leaving Lance sitting alone. Chris took the opportunity to approach him.

Lance addressed him first. “Joey said you weren’t coming,” he said, almost an accusation.

Chris shrugged. “Well, JC said I was, and we all know the JC card beats the Joey card any day.” He paused. “Where’s Jesse?”

It was Lance’s turn to shrug. “Who knows? Probably with his new boyfriend.”

Chris blinked. “New boyfriend? You broke up?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Chris said, almost defensively. “No one told me.”

Lance rolled his eyes again. “Of course not,” he said. “No one knew.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me,” Lance said. Chris thought that he heard a slightly sarcastic emphasis on the word “people,” but decided to concentrate on the important part. No more Jesse!

“Lance, we’re your friends,” Chris said. “I know we haven’t talked much lately, but if you need—”

“No,” Lance interrupted, snappishly. “It was my decision. I was the dump-er, not the dump-ee. So, no, I don’t need any sympathy. I’m doing great, thank you very much. Let’s be clear on that, okay? I’m great.”

“Umm. Okay?” Lance sounded a little hysterical for someone who was insisting he emotionally unaffected, Chris thought. He was obviously very hurt by the break-up.

“And I’m not having a crisis over Joey’s wedding, so get _that_ out of your head, too,” Lance added, still sharply. “I don’t care what JC told you, I’m not. I don’t need you checking me, hovering over me like a worried great aunt. I’m great. So you can go tell JC you talked with me and I’m fine. Because I am. I’m great.”

It hit Chris suddenly, what Lance was saying. Chris wasn’t that stupid, despite evidence to the contrary. He knew what Lance was getting at. He realized that Lance had known all along what he'd been doing and was now making sure Chris knew he wouldn't have the chance to do it again. Lance was rejecting him before he made a play.

Chris had always dealt with rejection the same way. Anger had always been his greatest self-defense. “Of course you are,” Chris said, flatly. “And I’d be the last one you’d call even if you weren’t.

“That’s right,” Lance nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You’re great,” agreed Chris, thinking _you don’t have to rub it in._

“I am,” said Lance, glaring.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Fine.”

“Wonderful.”

Chris had completely lost track of the conversation, but it kind of felt good to be arguing with Lance again.

“I’m fine, too, by the way,” he said. “In case you’re interested.”

“Great.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

A sudden shout distracted Chris from continuing with the witty repartee. He realized it was Kelly, back at the castle, calling for the single women to get ready for the tossing of the bridal bouquet. Joey was calling the single men, too, because the tossing of the garter would be right after. They were very far away but Chris recognized JC and Justin as they joined the crows surrounding Joey.

Chris’ brow wrinkled. “Should those two be getting in on that? Won’t their girlfriends be pissed?”

Lance shrugged again. He was still mad, obviously, refusing to look Chris in the eye.

Chris felt sad again, all of a sudden.

“Joey’s married,” he mused, softly. “And I can’t hardly keep track of the rest of you anymore.” He smiled, wistfully, a little bitterly. “It really is the end of an era, isn’t it?”

Lance made a strangled sound, a whimper almost. When Chris turned to look at him, Lance was bowed over, like he had a sudden stomachache.

“Lance? What... Is something wrong?” Chris moved closer, reaching out one hand. Was it Lance’s heart again? “Are you—?”

Lance flinched away from his hand. “I’m _fine,_ ” Lance answered, through gritted teeth. “I’m fine, okay? Don’t touch me. Leave me alone.”

Chris’ hands clenched into fists. “Okay,” he said, fury rising again. “I get it, okay? You don’t need me. You’re fine. You don’t want me, you don’t need me. You don’t have to keep saying it. I _get_ it.” He stood up, prepared to storm away, but stopped at the last second. “Maybe I’m glad you’re fine,” he said, all the hurt and anger suddenly breaking loose. “Maybe I’m fucking _ecstatic_ you don’t need me anymore. Maybe I didn’t really relish being a therapeutic sexual pincushion whenever something was wrong.” He knew he was being unfair again, but couldn’t seem to stop. “Maybe I got tired of you viewing my penis as the magical cure-all of all your ills, did you ever think about that?”

Lance had stood up, too, and was glaring back now. “Fuck you. Don’t make it sound like I used you. You enjoyed it. You liked being the magical cure-all of all my ills, as you so quaintly put it. You fucking got off on it.” He laughed, sardonically, harshly. “You think I don’t get it, too? You think I didn’t realize that that the only time you deign to come near me, touch me, is when you think I’m broken? You think I didn’t know that you only fucked me because you felt sorry for me, because you thought it would fix me?”

“I never felt sorry for you,” Chris denied, angrily. “You were hurting and I—”

“Fine,” cut in Lance. “It wasn’t a pity fuck, just a comfort fuck. Well, screw you, you think I wanted that?”

“Well, you sure acted like you wanted it!” he said.

“I wanted _you,_ you asshole,” Lance hissed. One of the prices of fame was that you had to learn to have screaming arguments at whisper levels. “And you wouldn’t even look at me unless you thought I was hurt or suicidal or on the verge of a mental breakdown. Well, I got news for you, pal. I’m fucking stronger than you think, and I’m a better actor than anyone’s ever given me credit for. You think it was easy pretending to have a broken heart all the time? To be so needy and helpless and _weak_?”

“Well I—” Chris stopped. Blinked. “Wait, pretending?”

Lance was on a roll, however, and just kept right on ranting. “And you know the worst part? When I really needed it, when my heart really _was_ broken, I couldn’t even go to you."

Chris was confused. Lance had a broken heart? When? Why didn't anyone tell him? "Why not? I'm not—”

"Because _you_ were the one who broke it, you fuck!”

Chris was so surprised by that he actually shut up for half a second. “I did?” he asked. "What? When?" Then he remembered why he was angry. “Wait, I did not. You broke _my_ heart. And besides, _you_ broke up with me. You left me.”

“Because you were leaving _me_ ,” returned Lance. He seemed to tire, all of a sudden. “Don’t deny it," he said, "it’s always been your MO. I was so frigging happy that week, I let my guard down, forgot to put on my tragic mask and you decided you’d done your job and it was time to move on." He gave a cold bitter smile that almost hurt Chris to see. "Fuck it all, Chris, what’s the point of being happy if you have to pretend to be miserable all the time? Do you have any idea how demeaning it is to have to resort to emotional blackmail just so the guy you’re in love with will consent to fuck you?”

Chris blinked again, completely dumbfounded now. _Okay, whoa. Back up there, Nelly._ “You were happy? With me? You were in love with me?”

Lance snorted. “God, you’re so stupid.”

“Hey,” Chris said, hanging on to the vestiges of his anger by a fingertip, because he was kind of feeling happy, for some reason. He wasn’t sure why, but he was. “I wasn’t the one with the convoluted master plan of seducing me by pretending he was pining for another man. That was you.”

“That’s my point entirely,” Lance said. “For fuck’s sake, you actually believed I had a thing for _Joey._ ”

“But...” Chris tried to look back. “ _I_ wasn’t the one who used being all sick and not being able to sleep to seduce me. That was you, too.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “You were in my bed, of course I was going to take advantage. You could have said no if you wanted. _You_ were the one that decided me being sick was the thing that brought you there.”

“I did not! And besides, I thought it was me taking advantage of you. Do _you_ have any idea how guilty that made me feel? I was seducing you in you when you were too weak to protest, I thought.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you were really in love with me, why didn’t you just seduce me like a normal person?”

“Oh, and like I didn’t try.”

“You did?” Now _that_ was a surprise. “When? I don’t remember you trying anything.”

“You see?” Lance said, almost triumphantly. “The only time you ever saw me, paid attention to me, was when you thought I was in trouble. I fucking _hated_ that. And I hated the fact that I wanted you so much I stooped to using it to get you.”

“You should have just told me,” Chris said.

“I tried!”

“Well, you send some seriously mixed up signals, dude. I didn’t get it at all. I thought you jus—”

Lance snorted again. “It’s not my fault you’re so stupid you can’t even see how crazy in love I am with you.”

“Oh, _I’m_ so stupid?” he returned. “What about you?

Lance opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. “What are you saying?” he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I’m saying you’re just as blind and stupid as I am.”

Lance shook his head. His voice have gotten really low and quiet, almost unsure. “I think you need to be clearer than that.”

It was the unsure tone that broke Chris, that made all his anger fly away.

Lance should never have to be unsure of anything, he thought. Least of all that he was loved.

Chris sighed. “Are you making me say mushy stuff? Because you know I don’t do mushy.” He shrugged then sat down, urging Lance to sit, too. “Okay, here’s the thing. When I first met you? I thought you were perfect.” Lance began to laugh but Chris silenced him with an earnest look. “I mean it. You were, I don’t know, you weren’t there yet, but I could sort of see what you were made of, what you’d become, and you had this smile and this voice and these brains and these dreams... I was intimidated, I guess. I thought the whole thing, *NSYNC, was just like a lark for you, that you were just slumming or something. I didn’t see how someone like you could ever have anything in common with someone like me. Or even that you’d ever want anything to do with me.” He smiled at the memory. “Truth is I kind of resented you for that.”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” said Lance.

“I thought you didn’t like _me,_ ” Chris returned. “I thought you were perfect,” he said again. “And the only time I could even look at you, could even think of coming near you, was when you weren’t.” He sighed. “I guess it made me happy to think that I had something you needed,” he said. “Even it was just temporary, when you weren’t at your best.”

Lance was shaking his head in bewilderment. “Chris, you have it all wrong. You know why I’ll never do a solo album? Why *NSYNC is my one unqualified success? Everyone knows I’m at my best when I’m with you.” He smiled, finally. “You really are stupid, aren’t you?”

“I am not. It’s just that you’re a controlling, manipulative, sadistic—”

“See?” Lance said again. “ You are. You don’t even know when it’s time to shut up and kiss me.”

“I am no—” Chris blinked again. “What?”

“I love you, you ass. Now shut up and let me kiss you. Or you kiss me. Or something.”

“Okay,” he said. He began to lean it, then stopped. “I love you, too, by the way.”

Lance grinned. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Smiling, Chris leaned all the way in. Thankfully, all the reporters and their cameras were busy inside the castle with a roomful of celebrities fighting over a bunch of flowers and a piece of lace. They didn’t even have to try to hide at all. Which was a good thing because there was no way Chris was ending that kiss before he was ready.

“So,” Lance said, when they finally broke apart. _Damn this stupid need for oxygen!_ thought Chris. “Just to be clear, we’re in love?”

“Yeah,” answered Chris.

Lance grinned. “You realize, that’s very non-depressing. It’s the exact opposite, in fact.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So?”

“So we can’t have comfort sex,” Lance pointed out. “And I really want to.”

Chris grinned back. “I think we’re pretty much done with comfort sex. Except if maybe if you wanna play doctor. Or nurse. Or maybe even Sexual Therapist.”

“No more comfort sex?” Lance asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Nope.”

“So what do we do instead?”

Chris inclined his head, gesturing back towards the castle. “Wanna go have revenge sex in Joey and Kelly’s suite?”

“Revenge for what?” asked Lance, who always needed to have details, it seemed. “And against who?”

“Does it matter?”

So they had revenge sex, which was just as fun and hot as comfort sex. Then they had make up sex, followed by celebration sex. Lance suggested they try “established relationship” sex next, but decided that they needed props and their own room for that. Joey and Kelly weren’t going to stay down at the reception forever.

“You realized this is fucked up and crazy, right?” Chris asked, as they fumbled around for their discarded clothing.

“Well, _we’re_ both fucked up and crazy,” pointed out Lance.

Chris grinned. “I guess that means we’re perfect for each other, then.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, even though Chris could see he was kind of tickled by the notion. “I thought you said you didn’t do mushy,” he reminded Chris.

Chris shrugged. “I guess I was wrong,” he said, then leered at Lance. “Wanna have mushy sex?”

“What’s mushy sex?” Lance asked.

“I’m not sure,” Chris answered, “but I bet it’d be fun to find out!”

VII

  
It all began at Joey’s wedding. So, really, it was all JC’s fault.

-end-

 

(c) JCSA / 2004

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to remember that the intended recipient asked for hurt/comfort. But of course Chris and Lance had to do it their way.


End file.
